


quiet // it should have been me

by shades_of_jade



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades_of_jade/pseuds/shades_of_jade
Summary: Spoilers: SNK S4 EP 8She had been so still. Her loose, dark hair pillowed around her, moved only by Mikasa as she had tried to rouse her. The only tears that found her cheeks were not her own, but of those who tried to call her back to them. Her body had been positioned naturally at rest, only disturbed by himself as he had rapidly wrapped her wounds with a futile fear. Her last few words had only been whispers.Again, it was that quiet that he hated.(Jean and Armin find comfort in each other on their way back to Paradis)
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein, jearmin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	quiet // it should have been me

“… Armin?”

Jean hated how loud he sounded. It wasn’t like he was yelling; he hardly had the voice left for that, at this hour, spent already from shouting orders over the sharp whistles of his ODM cables, the roaring engine of their airship. Over the racket of gunfire and buildings transforming to rubble. Over his comrades screams.

In comparison, he was unnerved at how quiet it was, then. The hum of the airship was the only sound, cutting through the dark of the night around them. Commander Hanji had noted the cloud cover was helpful to further shield their escape, but made conditions more perilous for their journey home, so the pilot had slowed their speed. It was the lull that seemed to soothe them to sleep, the only other sound Jean detected the gentle snores from the soldiers sleeping around him. 

Just hours ago, their joyous cries of victory had been deafening - despite the numerous times had griped at Floch to tone it down. It had been hard to stifle the celebration. He knew firsthand how scarce a successful mission was to come by, especially nowadays. A lot of their crew were soldiers just shy of being trainees; Jean could still recall the pride he’d felt after his first victory as a cadet. It was only fair to let them ride the high, if only until they got back to the island. 

Unfortunately for them, it hadn’t even lasted that long. 

Jean Kirschstein had been witness to his fair share of carnage. His level headedness was only natural, considering the innumerable times he had been tasked with identifying the bodies of soldiers on the battlefield. Calling them bodies would be kind, but he did so for the respect of the dead. Limbs fractured and dangling from trees, disembodied gazes and faces frozen in finalizing screams. Terror would force him to imagine the giant teeth on all sides, feel the dampness of saliva soaking through clothes, feel the dense muscles around trying to swallow him whole, hear the Titan’s satisfied growls as he slipped further and further down its throat - 

Somehow, the horror of those memories waned in comparison to the sudden stillness that had gripped him upon Sasha’s death. 

She had been so still. Her loose, dark hair pillowed around her, moved only by Mikasa as she had tried to rouse her. The only tears that found her cheeks were not her own, but of those who tried to call her back to them. Her body had been positioned naturally at rest, only disturbed by himself as he had rapidly wrapped her wounds with a futile fear. Her last few words had only been whispers.

Again, it was that quiet that he hated. 

Jean had resigned himself to at least keep watch, since he had tried and failed to get some rest. It had been hard enough to sit vigil beside Connie’s cot, to watch his shoulders shudder until he cried himself to sleep; it did not make for a very soothing lullaby, as exhausted as he could feel his body was. Jean knew it foolhardy to push himself, lest he slip up or let his guard down due to fatigue. Captain Levi had taught them that lesson early on. Jean figured that this once, he could grant himself respite from the nightmares he feared lay wait behind his eyelids. Or worse yet, the dreams. 

It had been on his way toward the cockpit that Jean had found him, feet dangling out an open side hatch of the ship like a child would on a tree branch. As much as he hated how his voice cut through the quiet, he was more grateful than usual for the soft voice that answered it.

“Jean … you’re still awake.” Armin responded, patting the floor beside him in an unspoken invitation. 

The wind was slow and cold as Jean joined him there. He noticed it blowing through the blonde hair, obscuring his gaze. The blue eyes had been caught up with the grey hanging in the sky, smeared like smudged tears along the horizon, before they shifted and caught his own. 

"Guess you’ve gotten over your airsickness, huh?"

It had been hours since, but Jean could still see the shifter marks like faded scars above his cheeks. They wrinkled a bit when Armin smiled. 

“Yeah … I guess the seasickness is the next step.” Jean said, huffing at himself in annoyance, “Who’d’ve thought I could do backflips with ODM gear but hurl as soon as I get on a floating hunk of metal?”

“When using maneuver gear, you have control of how you move, where your body goes, which direction and how fast. On an airship, you aren’t the pilot. It takes time to adjust to this change, of your body moving one way without your brain controlling its movement.”

“You’re saying it’s all just a mind game?” Jean teased, “I know you’ve always been brain over braun, but I don’t think my brain has any say when I’m puking my guts out."

Armin nudged him gently, pointing out to the horizon, barely visible amongst the obscurity of the clouded night. “It’s all about your equilibrium, of tolerating sensory conflict; your inner ear feels movement, but your eyes don’t see it. If you look into the direction you’re headed, your senses will be in agreement, and you feel much better.”

“So, less a mind game and more … an affirmation.” Jean saw the blonde nod in his peripheral, still watching the sky outside. “Reminding yourself which way you’re going, even if it _feels_ wrong."

“That’s right. Abandoning what feels wrong and convincing yourself you’re going the right direction is often the only way to continue moving forward."

Jean watched Armin’s hand lose tone, retreating back toward himself as his words trailed off. He understood. There was no need to be reminded of the reason their own path forward had been so smooth thus far. The destruction of the Marleyan naval fleet had been paramount in ensuring their escape. It hadn’t just been Marleyan soldiers as the necessary casualties, they had known that before the skirmish had begun. Jean knew it did not make it any easier, somehow. 

“It’s harder to convince myself of that lately.” Armin admitted plainly. “What’s justified, what’s not. I’m sure Commander Erwin felt like this at times … it’s a burden I wouldn’t wish upon anyone."

One thing Jean had always admired about him was his honesty. He wasn’t sure if he could read Armin like a book, or if the kid wore his heart on his sleeve. He had always been an expert at putting up a facade, but it seemed like this failed when he was around. Jean supposed, maybe, it was less that he was honest and more that Armin trusted him. 

“I don’t think justice has a say in what we do anymore.” Jean countered, making the suggestion as he thought aloud. “As kids, we’re taught to play fair, but that’s for games where the rules are created for fairness. You can’t expect to uphold justness in a world where there are no rules, in a game designed for people to cheat and lie and steal … and kill. There’s nothing fair in what happened here. It’s stupid to think like that.” 

Jean heard his last words and cursed to himself, holding his hands up in regret, “I don’t mean to say you’re stupid - “

“No, no, I get it.” 

Armin's laugh soothed a bit of his embarrassment. Jean rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, "This is why I don’t wax poetic - I end up sounding like an asshole."

“I think I am a bit stupid.” 

“I really didn’t mean - “

“It was stupid of me to think … what I did … that I can simply justify it away. That if I convince and reason with myself that it was right, then it must be. But you’re right."

Armin met his eyes, his own gaze clouded with pain, and it took a moment for him to focus. Tired was not a strong enough word to describe them then. 

“That’s stupid of me. I can’t justify a way to absolve my sins. Maybe Sasha - “

“Armin. Don’t.” Jean interrupted him immediately, sensing where his words were wandering. He moved his hand toward the boy, but was swatted off harshly as he shifted to retreat from his touch. 

“There’s no difference in the eyes of the dead!” 

The exclamation cut through the silence around them. That silence that had been plaguing Jean the entire night, once longed for, then dreaded. It was there with him again, pierced only by the sound of his heartbeat raging in his ears, Armin’s heavy breaths as he fought the tears brimming in his eyes. Jean kept his hand outstretched, fearful that his friend stood too close to the edge of the hatch. 

Armin didn’t break his stare, letting implication of his words sink in, deep and violent, like a blade to his gut. “The Marleyan soldiers, the children … Sasha. They all look the same, in the end. When I saw the light leave her eyes, it was no different than that of our enemy. The only sure thing was that _I_ saw them. What is one more death to me in comparison to one-thousand? Why should I even be allowed to mourn a death I take no blame for, with the thousands of others staining my hands I can’t ever atone for?” 

Jean felt a pang hit him at the brokenness in his voice. There was a pause far longer, far graver and hollowed than before, empty like a sigh. He felt his heart beat thump against his ribs like one would beat their head against a wall. Every passing blow hurt more than the last. 

Armin’s next words were nothing, really, soft as an exhale, but the most painful of all.

“' _It should have been me_.’ I told her this, at the end. I’ve already been given a second chance, one I still don’t know if I deserved. There were so many more things I wish I’d said, but … I said that.” He let a soft laugh wander from his lips, a joyful glint of tears blurring his vision. "I don’t even know if she heard me. Sasha ... was never really good at listening, huh?”

Jean watched for what seemed like longer but only must have been moments, the tears fall from his friend’s eyes. Armin buried his face in his hands, the sorrow, the guilt, the emptiness so deep he made no sound out of his mouth. At a needed intake of breath he gasped, a twisted, mangled cry filling the silence, filled with unrecognizable words. Words of things he did not know, and was not sure he could ever fully understand.

For a moment, Jean was frozen. He had never been the best at offering advice; Connie made sure he knew it too. He could hold up an argument until the end, but guide him to a grieving soldier and he would instantly grow tongue tied. The best strategy he knew was to simply be, to be there. Sure it took a hell of a lot longer, but Jean knew especially then that that was what Armin needed. 

Jean inched closer, rising to kneel until he was close enough to reach him. He extended a hand, and this time Armin didn’t recoil as it touched his forearm. Rather, he met it, collapsing to be caught in Jeans embrace, too weak to hold back, barely strong enough to stand. The boy did not yield immediately to the soft comfort it held; Armin buried his face into the strong chest, hands in fists and pounding relentlessly at the ribcage before him that muffled the few angry sobs escaping him. 

“It should have been me!” He repeated, over and over in his shattered voice, “It should have been _me!"_

As his cries weakened to whispers and his fists faltered and stilled, Jean held him close, rocking them back and forth, swaying gently and protectively like a lifeboat. He didn't know how much his words could do, knowing he could only hope to imagine the kind of pain his friend was in, but he said them anyways. 

"You know that if it were you, she'd say the same thing. We all would. But you can't think that anymore, alright?" Jean spoke the request firmly, "I should have noticed the Commander's absence sooner, or paid better attention when Sasha noticed something amiss. Hell, if I had been standing a few feet to the left ... anyways, you've got enough on your shoulders. Let me take the blame for this one." 

"Jean ... "

"It's fine. Don't think about it anymore for a while."

The arms around him tightened a little, and Jean felt warm tears wet his shirt anew. They both knew his consolation was nothing more than just that, but maybe that was his intention. There certainly were better people Jean could think of to blame - and he had, as cruel as it may have been. He didn't want to bring Eren into this now. It seemed kinder instead to try to bear it himself.

Jean realized how small Armin felt in his arms, despite their years of training and the time that had passed. It made him never want to let go, knowing he was powerless to protect him in so many other ways. At least, like this, he was safe for a while. Jean felt some relief knowing, if just for tonight, he could protect him in this way. 

So he stayed, hushing Armin’s cries until they quieted to sniffles, stroking his hair until the trembling in his tired frame waned. Jean felt his breathing slow until he was asleep. 

For the first time that night, the quiet was not so bad.


End file.
